I arrived with the hares at a very, VERY flaccid 1:69pm after Boxer’s Bananamobile made 2 stops to pick up me and Superflaggot. To be fair, I was outside of Druthers EXACTLY when I said I would be and Superflaggot was waiting outside his humble abode when we got there. So the hares being late (more like early for our next trail) wasn’t my or superflaggot’s fault. After all, he was wearing a cape.

Davidson bros brewery was a good spot to start trail. Good beer and good fo—“oh wait, they ordered food?” questioned the rest of us as burgers and nachos landed at Piggy’s table. Conversation included the fact that Assman’s two virgins looked like an Under Armor ad, and the fact that Assman’s male virgin has the “lower body of a distance runner”, the “upper body of a wrestler”, a “summer training schedule that involves 6 spartan races”, and “an ego the size of Moans’ Nips on a cold winters day” (that’s very very big). I added that last part. Who runs with earbuds on trail anyway? He wasn’t even that fast. Ugh. So then there was Boxer’s virgins. And you wouldn’t know because boxer treats her virgins like prom night dumpster babies. But you can tell they were together because they were both dressed like they had just come from a lecture at Skidmore on “Vegan Lesbian Dance Theory” or “Gluten-Free Feminist Slam-Poetry” or “how to look super French buy smoking before a r*n”. So after Piggy had wolfed down his burger, Dirtbag and I headbutted for good measure, and enough time had passed so that Decibelle could have birthed another kid, we finally left for trail. The virgin line was fun because our virgins basically came in two pairs – the under armor ad pair and the French “every 100 meters is a cig-check” pair”. But to be fair, Boxer’s virgin Sydney is wicked cool and she works at the Henry Street Tap Room in Saratoga and she’s awesome.

Trail sucked decently as it always does. We ran ‘round the outskirts of glens falls, up and down hills, in and out of industrial areas the smelled like poop. All while searching for red flour that we could actually see BECAUSE IT WAS BROAD DAYLIGHT. There were leap frog checks (which were performed half-assedly), smiley-face checks, stick figure checks, hug checks, clothing swaps, and a number of other checks that weren’t in chalk talk and I’m convinced were there simply so Boxer could show off her “drawing in flour” skills, or to just flaunt how much she knew about checks. One part of trail went along some canal, where the snow was packed-down in a trail just wide enough for one person. And if you mis-stepped and planted your foot six inches to either side of the trail, you were ass-deep in snow. That part was fun. But Jizzney, Hymen and I got pretty decently fucked when we thought it continued.

Trail continued and we got to the most important mark that wasn’t in chalk talk: the “fat, dirty, old man shoveling snow on his front lawn” check. This was a real civilian person, by the way, not just Willy who decided to grab a garden tool and help out. We came up a hill from some factory and couldn’t find trail because hares suck. And after a few minutes of looking he said “some fellers went a-runnin up this’ere hill see and they was layin’ s’m red stuff”. And that’s how we found trail. Then we took a roundabout way to some hole-in-the-wall pub that was serving coors light and cold snap. Sets of virgins that made it to beer check: 1. The French twins had to go finish their “Gender-neutral man-hating coffee-ordering” homework. Hashers lost: a bunch. Moans, edgewhiner, Wooly, and Superflaggot brought up the rear. Superflaggot’s cape was epic though.

Then the hares, because beer check took about 4 miles, decided to go easy on us and basically run us straight to the brewery. But I wouldn’t know what happened on this part of trail because I 3rd-degree zenned myself to basically Kansas. First I went of zenning with Piggy (should have known better after last trail), which was promising for a while. Then I split off from him and found Hymen. When I was done with that Hymen (waka waka) I found Hymen Dickedover and zenned with her for a while. Then I got bored of that, ran to some bank, and found Willy and Decibelle. I thought “there’s no way these guys are anywhere near the front of the pack”, so I ditched them after a while too. After going “where the fuck am I” enough times, I ran back to the main road, took a random left, and found the On-In. I guess I deserved to be DAL for zenning (for a 3rd time) away from the pair that was about to be FRBs.

When I got there they were already Alouetting Virgin Kate, which Dirtbag attempted to turn into a Jewish wedding by smashing a glass on the ground. So the Server brought him a sippy cup. Hares drank, Assman drank for still not knowing how a kilt works, and other people drank for equally as silly reasons. Then general public started to show up so we had to swing low and get out of there.

Then assman, flaggot and I (and assman’s balls) rode back to Davidson bros’ in the back of Jizzney’s truck. Which was really windy. Then superflaggot convinced a group of us to go to the full moon party at the cascade lodge in lake placid. So we kidnapped virgin kate, commandeered a bottle of fireball, got shmammered in the car (boxer drove – god bless ‘er), and spent the whole night cross country skiing between bonfires, drinking more beer, and singing hash songs. Then superflaggot, assman, and Just Kate fell asleep and Boxer and I tore up a fucking rug. And then they slept some more as we belted Vanessa Carleton at the top of our lungs in the car.

For those of you math types, that’s 16 hours of straight partying. #Saturdays

Anyway, that’s all I can remember from this trail. Do more stupid shit if you want me to write about you.